


Mentor Me

by LadyDrace



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, BDSM, Blood, Bloodplay, Cock Rings, Dom/sub, M/M, Mentor/Protégé, Praise Kink, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-16
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-05-02 00:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5227115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace/pseuds/LadyDrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter has taken Isaac under his wing, and is teaching him many interesting things. But there's something very specific that Isaac wants from his mentor, and if there's one lesson he's already learned, it is that if you want something, you have to go for it. </p><p>So Isaac does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mentor Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smaychel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smaychel/gifts).



> I DON'T KNOW WHERE THIS CAME FROM!!
> 
> I usually don't even ship these two, but a certain someone made my head spin with pretty images, and I let myself get swept away. And you're all welcome.
> 
> Unbetaed, but definitely edited.

"Such a beautiful boy," Peter sighs. It's not an uncommon thing for him to say, but it still makes Isaac preen. He simply can't help it.

 

It's been his main strength his entire life. Through all the abuse and fear, and sudden burst of power and loss of control with becoming a werewolf, if nothing else he's always had his beauty. It has gotten him everything from lollipops to fake IDs to photo ops. He's made more money off his cheekbones than most teenagers ever even see.

 

But it feels like, at twenty three, that he's reached a whole new level. Because in attracting - and  _ holding _ \- Peter's attention, it feels like taming a lion. Or, rather, distracting one. It still feels like he might pounce any minute, and Isaac never feels entirely sure whether Peter will eat him or fuck him.

 

He has so far done neither of those things, and it's getting frustrating. Isaac is starting to consider a one-night stand to get rid of the itch under his skin, but something tells him it would not sit well with Peter.

 

So. Desperate measures. Which is why Isaac is lounging in Peter's uncomfortable, but very stylish, arm chair after his shower, wearing only a towel, and making sure he's in the best afternoon light. He doesn't even care if he's being blunt anymore. He just wants Peter to  _ do  _ something.

 

But, as usual, nothing happens at all. Peter simply stays on his sofa, reading a slim volume of something so old the writing on the front is worn off. But his eyes are on Isaac, like they always are when he enters the room.

"Good book?" he asks, and Peter shrugs, still looking at him.

 

"I think so."

 

After that, nothing. Just more staring. Isaac shifts his hips deliberately, testing, the towel loosening around his waist. Peter's eyes dart there, but quickly travel back up to his face.

 

"How's the view, then?" he asks, boldly, and is rewarded with a smile so predatory it makes his nipples harden.

 

"Better."

 

Isaac shifts again. "Just better?"

 

Peter quirks an eyebrow at him. "Do you really need to ask?"

 

"Maybe I like hearing it."

 

"You know I think you're beautiful."

 

The towel comes undone completely with the next shift of Isaac's hips, and only a strategically draped corner keeps him decent. "But not beautiful enough to touch?" he asks, voice small, and tilts his head to the side, baring his neck, completing the picture of debauched youth splayed out for a lover's gaze.

 

Peter sighs again, and a glance confirms that his eyes are flashing.

 

"Art is not for touching. It's for admiring. At a distance."

 

"Art?"

 

Peter puts down the book, finally, still looking no more flustered than any other time. Isaac feels a vague urge to scream from how frustrating it is.

 

"Yes. Art. Perfect circles. Arcs and planes. Symmetry. Harmonious compositions. You have all of those things. And disturbing it would be a crime."

 

Determined now, he meets Peter's gaze. "Is that another way of saying you'll never fuck me?"

 

"Hmm, no. Not never. It's like snow. When it's new and pure, some people feel a need to instantly ruin it. I...? Well, I like to wait until nature's course taints the perfection on its own."

 

Isaac isn't sure he knows what Peter means, but he definitely gets an idea. It'll be worth a shot in any case.

 

He flicks off the towel with two fingers, revealing his cock already at half mast, and he closes his hand around it with a shiver. Peter's eyes are definitely not on his face anymore.

 

"Would you say nature was taking its course if I fucked _myself ?_ "

 

The look on Peter's face can only be described as gleeful. "Beauty  _ and _ brains. Perfection," he purrs, and Isaac returns the grin, because he finally cracked it. Peter won't mess him up. So he'll have to do it himself. But, oh, those eyes on him sure helps it along. He sucks two fingers into his mouth, thrusting them slowly in and out, making them wet, and Peter's eyes are glued to them.

 

"So beautiful," he sighs again, as Isaac reaches between his legs, and lets his eyes fall closed.

  
He has two fingers inside himself when Peter make the first huff of displeasure. Isaac stills, and looks at him in question.

 

"You'll never last if you rush it like that."

 

"Maybe I don't want it to last. Maybe I want to get it over with so you'll fuck me."

 

Peter rolls his eyes. "I did not make any such promise. I did, however, stress how art should be enjoyed. At length, preferably," he adds, and Isaac forces himself to slow down. So Peter wants a show. Sure, Isaac can do that.

"Alright. Well, what do you suggest?"

 

"Remove those fingers, for one thing. They're blocking the view."

 

"Oh." 

 

_ Oh _ . Okay, this is new, but nothing he can't adapt to, and he shifts higher up the chair, so he can drape his legs over the arm rests, opening himself up completely to Peter's gaze.

 

"Yes, much better."

 

Isaac preens again under the praise, and starts stroking his dick again. But only a few passes later, Peter huffs again. "Too fast."

 

"Yes, Sir," Isaac says, testing, but Peter just smiles mildly at him.

 

"Cheeky. Nice try."

 

So that's not welcome, either. Isaac is starting to struggle with figuring out a way he can get off if he can't touch himself. And from the way Peter is grinning, that's probably deliberate.

 

"Tell me what you want me to do."

 

"You're a clever boy. Figure it out."

 

Dammit. Apparently there's no help from that quarter, and his hard cock falls to rest on his stomach as he lets it go in frustration.

 

"Remember. You are the art," Peter says softly, eyes trailing slowly up and down his entire body. On a whim Isaac reaches down with both hands, and spreads his ass cheeks open. Peter nods with a pleased hum, and Isaac can feel pre-come blurting out of his cock simply from the approval.

 

" _Beautiful._ "

 

Careful not to obstruct the view too much, Isaac dares to reach in with a single finger, and circle his still wet and flushed rim, rubbing it slowly. Peter seems to accept this, but the moment Isaac tries to penetrate himself, the displeased huff is back. So slow and gentle rubbing of his hole is what he can get. He flexes, tightening the rim and relaxing it, and Peter's eyes flash again. So Isaac keeps doing it, again and again, until it feels like he's gonna go mad if he doesn't get just one finger inside himself to fill the aching emptiness that only gets worse with every muscle clench.

 

"Please," he whimpers, cock hot and neglected against his skin, dripping into his navel.

 

"Mmm, no."

 

"Fuck. Please. Tell me how." Isaac would usually say he's too proud to beg, but he dares anyone to uphold something like that under Peter's hungry gaze.

 

"Well. The art can always be improved. Maybe with a bit of color."

 

Isaac stills in the chair again, panting, desperately trying to figure out what Peter means. Color. Where? How? His tongue darts out, wetting his lip, and Peter's gaze follows it. Experimentally, Isaac bites his lip, letting go of it slowly, and Peter makes a low noise, almost like an actual purr.

 

"Good boy."

 

If Isaac had been closer to the edge, that could have made him come. But now he has a mission, at least.

  
He bites his lip again, just to make sure, and then moves his hands from his ass up to his chest. He goes for his nipples first, pinching them mercilessly, until they're swollen and red. It won't last, of course, but it's obviously to Peter's taste. He's still sitting in the same casual position, ankle resting on his knee, hands clasped in his lap. But his smile has faded in favor of something like awe, eyes fixed on Isaac so firmly it's like a physical touch.

 

Isaac loves it. Loves it _desperately_ , and he feels like he'll fly apart the first time Peter actually touches him, kisses him, _fucks_ him.

 

"Fuck," he whispers, and Peter hums his approval. And he's not the only one feeling primal, because Isaac feels his fangs burn in his gums, and his nails itch with claws. It gives him a thought, though, and, on the next breath, he lets them out. Claws and fangs only. He bites his tongue, quick and almost painless from his dagger-sharp fang, and licks his lips, hot blood smearing on his lip. Peter goes deadly still, and Isaac immediately tries licking it off again.

 

"No," Peter says softly, and that's it. Color. If Peter wants color, Isaac will give him color.

  
The blood goes tacky on his mouth, but he leaves it there for Peter's pleasure. He follows Peter's gaze down, and lets his clawed fingers drag tiny pink lines across his chest, narrowly missing his nipples. Swallowing hard in anticipation as well as from a tingle of fear, Isaac braces himself, and slices a thin cut across his pectoral muscle right under his nipple. The pain is brief, but lances hotly through him, somehow both helping and hurting his arousal. He cock softens, but his entire body feels like it's on fire, if nothing else just from Peter's searing haze.

 

"Such a brilliant boy. Beautiful, beautiful boy, look at you," Peter murmurs softly, and Isaac needs more of it, so much more. So he immediately drags two more lines under the first one, which is already healing. But the blood remains, quickly congealing. But he keeps going, dragging his claws across his skin, until, inevitably, he cuts too deeply. He flinches as his claws penetrates the muscle, and Peter tsks.

 

"Don't vandalize it, sweetheart."

 

Isaac nods, feeling chastised and brittle as he heals. He's blood-streaked and sweaty, open and vulnerable in all the ways. His body is growing hotter from the healing, and he's panting for breath from the pain and intensity. And his cock is the most confused it's ever been, hardening and softening in turn.

 

"What do you want me to do?" he asks finally, feeling broken, because what can he do? What more does Peter want from him?

 

"I want you to relax," Peter says finally. "I want you to be. Just  _ be _ , for a moment. You're a work of art, my darling boy, and if you really want to please  _ me _ rather than yourself, you'll stay there, just like this," he says as he stands smoothly. "I'll just be a moment."

 

And then Isaac is alone, spread like a feast in Peter's designer living room, stained with blood and pre-come, sickly feeling of abandonment settling in his gut. But Peter does return, barely a minute later with... a cock ring? It's tossed towards him, and he fumbles it repeatedly with his pain-shivering arms before getting a hold of it.

It's black and slightly bulky from the attached bullet vibrator, but it's also tasteful, like everything Peter owns is, and Isaac's cock stirs again. However, it's also very small, and he frowns, because this will never fit the base of his cock.

 

"It's supposed to go on right under the crown,” Peter explains, clearly following the line of thought. “Once you have it on, you are not to touch yourself again. Understand?"

 

Isaac is so achingly thrilled to get any kind of directions, _at fucking last_ , that he jerks his cock painfully hard to get it to full mast faster, not even thinking that maybe he should try and get more touch before it's off limits. But Peter's eyes are on him, and in no time his cock is in the game again, hard and flushed in his fist. He spreads pre-come around the head and down the shaft enough to ease the way for the cock ring.

 

But it's tight. So tight that Isaac's eyes burn with tears, as he tries forcing the issue. His cock softens slightly again, and it's just enough to get the ring on. He then lets his cock fall to his stomach once again, panting and shaking with effort, and Peter nods with approval.

 

"Good boy. Just relax for a bit now. Let me have a look at you."

 

He feels filthy. Definitely not a work of art anymore. But Peter seems to enjoy the improvements, and that's all that matters. It only strikes Isaac very briefly that there might be more to this than sexual pleasure, but it's like he's floating, only Peter's eyes and voice keeping him tethered. Nothing else is important.

 

"God, look at you," Peter sighs. "Simply perfect. So perfect for me."

 

He hears himself whimper, the praise like fire under his skin, and he almost misses the next words.

 

"What?" he pants, worried that punishment will follow his attention slip. But Peter just smiles kindly at him.

 

"Press the button. Go on."

 

It feels like getting to eat dinner after a whole day of smelling delicious foods cooking, but not being allowed to have any. It feels like a first kiss after hours of dancing and hoping and wanting. It feels like jumping into cool water after a long, hot day, every muscle seizing up as the vibrations start.

 

He cries out, and thrusts his hips up involuntarily, mindlessly needing to press into it.

 

But Peter's voice brings him back down.

 

"Easy, darling, _easy_. Let it do the work for you."

 

It's so hard to keep still, and Isaac pants wetly, breaths rasping in his throat as the buzzing continues right under the head of his cock, the most sensitive spot. We wants to move, so badly, the primal urge to thrust his hips almost unstoppable. But only almost.

 

"That's a good boy. Just like that. Let it happen. Just let it..."

 

It takes a long time. Longer than Isaac ever thought he could handle being still like this. And he also never thought he'd be able to come without at least a hand on his dick.

 

But every word from Peter's lips, and every judder of the vibrator simply hurls him higher, and he's about to go mad with it all when Peter finally says...

 

"Come for me."

 

It doesn't happen immediately, like it does in porn, but the words lance into Isaac's gut, makes his stomach clench and his toes curl, and the knowledge that he can, that he's  _ allowed  _ slams him over the edge barely a minute later, come gushing onto his chest, wetting the blood again, and making pink rivulets streak down his ribs and onto the chair.

 

But Peter seems more than happy, eyes twinkling and smile proud, actually  _ proud _ , more than he's ever been during all of his  _ lessons _ .

 

After a while of obvious admiration, he helps Isaac up. Unsteady like a newborn foal he sways towards Peter helplessly.

 

"Please?" he asks again, and Peter looks surprised. But then there's fondness in his eyes, and he brings Isaac in, with a hand on his nape, for a slow and soft kiss that makes Isaac want to weep from the sheer tenderness of it.

 

"Let's get you into a bath," Peter murmurs when their lips part, and Isaac lets himself be cared for.

 

End

 


End file.
